you keep your fingers like a vise over my mouth as though you could silence me with sharp nails

i am a spectre
a hollow ghost 

and under the strange moon, 
i am a blank slate

crisp in perfect emptiness

until someone spills tea over it
or runs in dirty shoes 
or smears blood into the void

because copper turns my palms white with how hard i clench them into fists, 
makes my blood burn with anger, 
blind fury to the world
and a middle finger to it all 

diamond veins
because i'd like to see you hurt me now 
i've hurt myself far worse than you ever could

chapter eight, chapter eight, chapter eight 
you said you were moving on to a new chapter in the book of your life 
turning pages like they're baking sheets 
crackling in the wind 

but you keep saying that 
and we both know that's not how it works

i am one of the things you're trying to leave behind

so listen, 
listen to my ringing-hollow words, 
empty and devoid of meaning 

because i doubt anything else 
will spill from these stitched-shut lips. 

The End

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